Small Comforts
by fhestia
Summary: When Minerva is taken ill one day, her colleagues do their best to make her feel better. Cozy Hogwarts staff drabble.


Minerva watched with dull eyes as honey dripped slowly from the tip of her spoon into her teacup. Goodness, but she felt tired this morning. Tired and irritable. She stirred the tea slowly, careful not to clink the spoon against the porcelain because even slight noises were setting her teeth on edge. It was going to be a long day, she could already tell, but, after a few cups of bracing tea, undoubtedly she would perk up and feel like eating something. Until then, she wanted to be left alone...

"Professor McGonagall," said a deep voice to her left, "Your plate is still empty. May I pass you something?"

"For heavens sake, you scared the life out of me!" she snapped, banging her spoon to the table. "Must you always sneak up on people, Severus?"

"I have been sitting here for the better part of ten minutes. As your mind is obviously elsewhere this morning, I shall repeat my question. Would you like something to eat? Some toast, perhaps?"

She shuddered slightly, imagining how dry toast would feel against her aching throat. "No, thank you."

Professor Snape sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and regarding her with one eyebrow raised. "I've never known you not to tuck enthusiastically into your breakfast, regardless of the hour."

"I said I don't want anything, thank you." Minerva took a sip of her tea and was unable to keep from wincing as she swallowed, which did not escape his scrutiny.

"Are you certain you're feeling well this morning? Several students have taken ill recently."

"I'm_ not_ ill, I tell you. A bit tired is all. And perhaps a slight headache." The steam from the tea had unfortunately made her nose itch, and she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief just in time to muffle a quiet sneeze.

"Bless you," said Professor Snape "You sounded rather like a cat with a hairball."

Minerva dabbed at her streaming eyes and blew her nose. "As much as I'm enjoying your pleasant company this morning," she said, pushing her chair back and standing. "I'm afraid I have lessons to prepare."

She stumbled slightly as she walked from the table, raising her handkerchief to her mouth as she began to cough. Professor Snape was at her side immediately, stopping her with a touch on her arm. "If you are ill, you should see Madam Pomfrey instead of dragging yourself around like this. You can't be too careful at your age."

Minerva shook off his hand irritably. "'At my age?'" she said, glaring at him. "Thank you for your concern, but I am absolutely fine."

* * *

Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway of the staff room later that evening, pleased to see that a comfortable chair had been saved for her and that it was located quite close to the cheerfully blazing fire. There were few places colder than Hogwarts in the dead of winter and she'd felt the bitter chill acutely all day as the hours crawled by. Although she'd felt steadily worse as the day progressed, she never considered missing the Friday evening gathering, which was traditional and a welcome break from the staff members' usual routines.

"Minerva," Professor Snape said, glancing up as she sat heavily in the chair. "I'm pleased to see you've recovered from your traumatic experience at breakfast today."

"Whatever are you talking about, Severus,?" she asked in a tired voice, shivering and tightening her cloak around herself.

"When you left the table so suddenly this morning while clutching a handkerchief to your face, the assumption was, naturally, that I reduced you to tears."

She propped one elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned her head into her hand. "I don't know whether I should laugh or feel completely insulted by that."

A slight smile quirked his lips. "Not to worry. Your performance in the classroom today, or should I say your stunning _lack_ of performance, put that rumor to rest quickly enough."

"Transfiguration is a precise art," she reminded him. "And if your voice is in the least hoarse or congested..."

"...then you will transfigure a harmless mouse into a snarling Doxy, much to the consternation of an entire class of terrified Hufflepuffs."

Minerva groaned and covered her eyes. "At least I had the presence of mind to vanish it before it could bite anyone."

"I've prepared something for you that may help," he said, indicating a goblet resting on a nearby table.

Minerva frowned, watching the steam swirling lazily from the surface of the liquid. "I don't want any of your horrid potions, thank you. All I require is some rest."

"This isn't a potion. It's a fire whiskey toddy, held under stasis to maintain it at the proper temperature. It's best consumed while curled up in bed under a warm blanket."

Her eyes went unfocused and she smiled wistfully. "Sounds lovely."

"Just the thing for a cold. The theory is you will sweat out the fever and it will ease your sore throat and help you sleep."

"For a Potions master," said Poppy from across the room, where her attention had been divided between their conversation and the journal she was reading, "You seem rather well-versed in Muggle home remedies."

"We take our small comforts where we can, Poppy."

"Oh, indeed," she said, licking a finger and casually turning a over a page of her book. "Especially when we can't stomach Pepper-up."

"Aren't you sworn to maintain strict confidentiality?" he asked, shooting her an annoyed glance.

From the couch nearest the fire, Professor Sprout giggled. "That's hardly classified information, Severus." She turned in her seat and addressed Minerva. "You know, when I'm ill, I find something sweet to nibble on is always comforting."

"And just how often are you ill, Pomona?" Snape asked.

"Hush, you. Now make yourself useful and pass these to Minerva, if you would."

"Chocolate biscuits?" he said, incredulously, studying the label. "What are you, a first-year?"

"Thank you kindly, Professor Sprout," Minerva said, reaching over and snagging the package from his hands. "These will be just the thing."

Professor Flitwick had been busy in a corner of the room, muttering and waving his wand about, and he approached the group, hefting a blanket in his arms.

"Here you are, Minerva," he said, lifting the blanket to her chair. "I couldn't help but notice you seemed chilled, so I've charmed it to adjust to your body temperature."

"How nice, Filius," she said, arranging the blanket so it covered her lap. "I'll admit I haven't felt warm all day."

"I've heard enough," Poppy said, rising and stretching. "As cozy as these little Friday night chats can be, you are most certainly ill and you're doing no one any favors by forcing yourself to stay up. Off to bed with you."

"Perhaps you're right." Minerva sighed and refolded the blanket, draping it over one arm and collecting the biscuits and still-steaming goblet.

"Come along, then. I'll walk with you to your quarters and make sure you're settled."

"Thank you, Poppy." Minerva turned and cast an affectionate glance on her colleagues. "And thank you everyone."

"I do hope you feel better soon," said Professor Sprout.

"Yes, get lots of rest, my dear," added Professor Flitwick.

"I'll look in on you tomorrow," Severus said, "That is, if you haven't succeeded in infecting the rest of us."

Madam Pomfrey stopped in the doorway, turned and flicked her wand in his direction. She frowned slightly as she studied the resultant readings.

"Tsk," she said, tucking her wand away. "I do hope you have enough fire whiskey in reserve to prepare a toddy for yourself, Severus."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm implying nothing. I'm saying it outright. You're ill as well, or soon will be," She folded her arms and regarded him with amusement. "Perhaps if you ask nicely, Filius will be kind enough to charm a nice cozy blanket for you as well."

He stared levelly at Madam Pomfrey. "You may want to recalibrate your diagnostic wand, Poppy. I have never felt b..." He was forced to stop talking and ducked his head as he was overcome with a sudden sneeze. "...better," he finished with a sigh and a sniffle. "Blast it, Minerva," he said through clenched teeth. "You didn't have enough sense to keep to yourself when you knew you were ill and now you've passed it along to the rest of us."

"Be reasonable, Severus," Poppy said soothingly. "There is no possible way you could have contracted an illness in the span of one day."

"How else could it have happened? I make it a point to keep my distance from the contagious little vermin we call students at all times."

"Perhaps it was last week, when you were both standing outside in a cold rain, arguing over the Quidditch match," Professor Sprout said innocently, though with a wicked grin on her face.

At this a guilty look passed between the two professors. "I still say it was a blatant foul," he muttered. "But I shouldn't be surprised. Gryffindor always receives preferential treatment."

"Don't start that again, Severus," Minerva said in a croaky voice. "You have some nerve, complaining about blatant fouls when your Slytherins..."

"Enough, both of you," Poppy said firmly, giving Minerva a gently nudge in the back. "You're going to bed now. And Severus," she said, looking over at him. "I will be back for you shortly. You're both fortunate it's the weekend and you'll have nothing to distract you while you recover."

At Professor Snape's irritated glare, Poppy smiled kindly.

"Small comforts," she reminded him.


End file.
